


A Lesson in Etiquette and Skullduggery

by TransgirlCowboy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arthur interactions with Strangers isnt isolated and actually has an effect on his life, Arthur takes control of his destiny, Dutch Van Der Linde learns from his mistakes, Good boys only!!!, Happy Ending, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Multi, POV Arthur Morgan, POV Third Person Omniscient, The Gang goes to a Ball, met gala au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransgirlCowboy/pseuds/TransgirlCowboy
Summary: It's 1899, and the city of Saint Denis (with Angelo Bronte's sponsorship) has recently built it's first Metropolitan Art Museum, the Primrose Plaza, advancing itself from a City of Industry to a City of Class and Prominence.To raise awareness and funds for this museum, Saint Denis is holding its first Costumed Exhibit Gala with known celebrities and personalities to spark interest in the event and museum.And the Van Der Linde gang, fresh off the frosted peaks of the Ambarino and the law on their coattails, see opportunity in this party.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Happiness, Eventual Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, Susan Grimshaw/Black Belle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. And The Tone Deaf Shall Prosper/Introspection Makes Fools Of Us All.

In 1898, the city of Saint Denis is an industrial power for sure, but it also seeks to establish itself as a city of class, encompassing the heights of luxury. So, in collaboration with beloved patron Angelo Bronte, Saint Denis builds an art museum fit for the brightest and most creative minds that dot America's vast open country. On the same street as the Theatre Raleur, construction begins on the Primrose Institute of Craft. Just at the start of the new year, the museum is complete and Saint Denis' abundance of businessmen is interspersed with socialites, artists, and high-rollers.

To celebrate its completion and establish cultural influence, Saint Denis uses the Primrose Institute of Craft as the venue for its first annual Costumed Exhibition Gala. With the date set just after the first weeks of spring, invitations and newsletters went out immediately, calling all manner of artists and aristocrats to attend the event and offer patronage. The marketing worked very well, as even the working class members of Saint Denis grew excited for the event. Knowing little about the Costumed Gala as a concept, people began visiting the Primrose in curiosity and excitement. The more opportunistic members of the city began renting out the rooftops as premiere seating to watch the luminaries, as the show floor could be seen from its glass roof windows. Posted on flyers and newspapers all across Lemoyne and New Hanover, Saint Denis drew in crowds by releasing a theme for the Gala's dress code. 

The Theme: "Change: "Fashion's Beautiful Struggle."

The Tagline: "America's growth as a country is purely reflected in its dress. From the British and Colonial roots to a rustic and pioneering outfit, America had yet to feel stagnation and knew only change. And as such, these changes were not all gentle, but often violent, dividing, and racked with turmoil. Even so, this same struggle evokes America's beauty, its insistence towards progress. True to life, America is the fullest embodiment of The Sublime: Chaos & Order in all their power, terrible and tremendous. Just as nature may have gentle rains and engrossing thunderstorms, our adolescent nation yields true character and beauty alongside its violence and rebellion. This itself is most evident in the contrast between the Civilized people of the tamed east and the Outlaws and Sinners of the Western Frontier."

Referencing the feud between Outlaws and the Law, this naturally came into the purview of the Van Der Linde gang, which always had a knack for theatricality.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 

A few weeks after settling down within Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur felt himself grow antsy. Whenever he went back to camp, he'd primarily make his rounds checking in on everyone, finish any spare chores and brunt work, and collapse into his cot. Other than that? He found himself less interested in huddling around the campfire and singing songs or plotting the gang's next move while playing Poker with Dutch and Hosea. At first, he thought it might have been a bug he picked up in the bitter cold of Colter, but his illness proved to be stubborn and affecting his disposition. Though Arthur hesitated to admit it, the dawning realization that they might not be able to escape the law weighed heavily on him, and he had no answers when confronted with his doomed fate. The way the gang acted, how they've always been just wasn't working anymore; that truth was made evident to Arthur by his adventures in Valentine. 

Valentine didn’t look too kindly upon Arthur. After his fistfight with that lughead Tommy, people already were wary of him and saw him as a brute. But after his drinking binge with Lenny? People knew his face and had seen him exiting the sheriff's office. It probably also didn't help that as soon as he was released he robbed the Doctor's office…  
So already his welcome felt pretty overstayed. Taking Bodicea’s saddle and putting it on his new horse, Dracula, Arthur avoided the town in favor of riding further out from camp and familiarizing himself with the area. 

When Hosea commented on his “gallivanting” across New Hanover and Lemoyne, he had complained and groaned much like expected. But honestly? He couldn't deny that the old man was right: A sense of wanderlust had overcome Arthur. He still loved the gang and would always call them "home," but the road found itself instilling a quietude into Arthur's soul. The feigned belief that he could be his own entity, truly live a life that was his own felt possible out there. This was reflected in his treatment of strangers on the road: the closer Arthur was to the camp, the more he saw people as marks and targets for robbery. But once out of proximity? Arthur would regain his empathy and see those folks for the people they were, even stopping to help some from time to time. Arthur felt no real control over his destiny as Dutch's workhorse, but maybe the afterimage of his actions as an individual would persist and burn into his heart. 

But for now, his life as an outlaw bled into everything, and even in his personal excursions, he saw the potential for a job, one that was right up their alley.


	2. A Setting of Stage and Cocking of Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets back and tells the gang about a new opportunity in store for them.

Slowing Dracula’s gallop down to a trot, Arthur rode up to the Horsehoe Overlook’s hitching post and fed the horse an apple before walking on into camp. His hand instinctively covered his eyes as the sun began falling down onto the horizon as Spring’s first storm clouds rolled in, offering a warm rain to close out the day. Having just come back from a 3-day trip of hunting down that monster of bear he and Hosea found, Arthur felt exhausted. Boots dragging across the dirt, he saw most of the gang huddled down by the campfire, enjoying each other's company. Eyes glossing over the scene, he looked into Dutch’s tent and saw Dutch and Hosea having what seemed to be an important conversation. The gramophone was at full volume and Molly was forced out of the tent, sitting with the rest of the gang at arm’s length. Arthur took a mental note of this but found himself too tired to come to a firm conclusion about it. Walking past the tent, Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled out a flyer for a rather extravagant party. “The Primrose Gala” was written on the top in big bold letters for all to see. Unfolding it, Arthur peered in without any warning, his eyes wearily looking for Dutch’s nightstand and nothing else. As he got close, the soft chuckles and gentle tones of old men he thought he heard were replaced with a loud “Oh, Arthur! G-Good to have you back, son!” The two men quickly shifted away from each other, their shadows still overlapping in the dim lamplight.  
“Okay Hosea.” was all Arthur could muster as he placed the crumpled poster on Dutch’s nightstand and walked out, oblivious to the men’s interactions. He’d seen them be affectionate to each other the years, wasn’t sure why they’d be so skittish about it, especially with him. Maybe that was the appeal of it, running around like schoolchildren, playing with a forbidden romance. Whatever the reason, Molly didn’t deserve it.   
No matter Arthur’s feelings on the matter, he was far too tired to do anything about it. Walking away from their tent, he reached into his satchel and grabbed a piece of salted beef. Hunting that bear had taken all the energy out of him, and while Pearson would certainly find a way to ruin that bear meat, Arthur needed something to subside on till then. Finishing the preserves, Arthur stepped under his wagon tent and collapsed onto the cot, not even bothering to take off his boots. 

/ / /

“Arthur...Arthur!”  
Hosea’s voice penetrated Arthur’s unconscious mind and crept in, slowly rousing him from his slumber.   
“I’m getting up, just gimme a minute.” Arthur hoped to feel more rested, but that bear left a weariness in his that wouldn’t leave. Propping himself upon his shoulders, his body slowly jostling awake, his face scrunched as he felt a thick blanket on top of him, put there in his deep sleep. Tossing it onto his clothes chest and leaning upright, he opened his eyes to the sight of Hosea offering him a cup of water. Palming it with both hands, he grumbled a thanks in his stupor before taking a sip.   
Hosea sat down next to Arthur on his cot, giving him a moment to wake up before he started talking.  
“How’re you feeling? Judging by the bear pelt on your horse and the fact that you look tired as all hell, I assume you finished the job did you?”  
Arthur instinctively stretched outwards, attempting to work out some of the soreness in his muscles. In between yawns, he confirmed Hosea’s claims.   
“Yeah...Son of a bitch nearly killed me, but I ain’t dead yet it seems.” His arms came down as he rested one along Hosea’s shoulders, pulling the old man in for a hug. 

“Reminds me of old times looking at you two. How’re you doing Son?”   
Looking up, Arthur saw Dutch walking over from his tent, propping himself up on the end table. Now acknowledged, Arthur dropped his arm off Hosea’s shoulders and yawned once more, the last bit of exhaustion leaving his body.  
“Fine, fine. Just resting after hunting a bear is all.” Arthur finished drinking his water and got off the cot, going to get some coffee. Dutch and Hosea walked beside, not far behind.  
“Not just a bear it seems, judging by the flyer you left for us.”   
Crouched over the percolator, Arthur poured him and Hosea a cup of coffee. Getting up to face Dutch, he could see that whatever happened in Blackwater, Dutch had put it all behind him, ready to take action once again. Maybe it was for the best to just let it be and forget the whole mess, for all our sakes.   
Handing Hosea his coffee, Arthur talked about the lead he found. “Yeah, I went riding out down near Lemoyne, found a big city called-”  
Dutch snickered, causing Arthur to turn and face him. “Sorry for interrupting Son. Just, the thought of you entering a city willingly is very humorous to me.” Dutch wiped a tear from his eye, motioning for Arthur to continue.  
After a deep groan, he resumed, “It was a city called Saint Denis.” Hosea’s head piped up upon hearing of Saint Denis, but said nothing. “Supposed a big party happening soon, a “Gala” if I remember correctly.”   
In between sips of coffee, Hosea spoke up, “Yeah, I’ve been there. a real shining example of civilization- if you don’t mind the plumes of smoke and muddy swamps around the place.” Hosea paused for a moment, deep in thought about scars he’d buried. “Took Bessie there on a date once, during the time I left the gang for a bit.” He closed his eyes for a moment, before moving on. “Ah well, so what makes you think this Gala has anything for us?”

Arthur dumped out the rest of his coffee cup before putting it back in his satchel. In a quick motion with his hands and fingers, Arthur asked if they wanted to play poker. Without missing a beat, they nodded their heads and motioned their hands, signaling “affirmative.” Understanding the gesture, Arthur took a deck out his satchel.This nonverbal language they had formed was the result of decades and trust and reliance between the three of them. It consisted only of slight hand motions and head movements, but was as easy as breathing or shooting for them at this point; this language was born of love, and saved their lives countless times. A few other members of the gang knew it- John, Tilly, Abigail- but the language began with the three of them, and said more than words could ever convey. 

Moving over to the camp table, the three of them all pulled up chairs as Arthur took the deck out their cardboard and began shuffling.  
“I read the flyer and it's supposed to be some real important people going: Actors, Aristocrats, that sort of thing.”   
Dutch chortled hearing more about the score, below that laughter the gears of scheming and plotting began to turn. Being dealt his cards, Dutch inquired more to better form the plan he had.  
“So what you’re suggesting is that we do a bit of soc-”  
Arthur interjected, already knowing what Dutch was gonna say. “A bit of social climbing yes. Jesus..” With every score that involved high society in any way, Dutch made the same quips and jabs, Arthur felt like he was called “Cinderella” more than “son” by now.

Hosea, peeking at his cards and resting them back on the table spoke: “I love a good foray into a rich man’s ball as much as the next con-man, but there’s gotta be something worth taking. Unless you just wanted to play pretend for a night.”  
Arthur dealt his hand and set the scene for their poker game. Getting the chips from under the table, he looked back at the flyer. “‘Says the ball is happening at an art museum; you think you can find someone to pawn some fine art off to?”  
Hosea thought for a moment before replying, “Yeah, I think Seamus’ll do.” Sensing Arthur’s disdain for the stable hand, he spoke again. “I know, I know, he can’t be trusted with something as big as pawning off priceless art. I’d only have him hold it for a while, keep it safe; plus, if this score is as big as you make it out to be, it’d get him from under the thumb of Emerald Ranch, and I’m sure he wouldn’t wanna mess that up.”

Dutch had been quiet for some time, just listening to his closest friends and loved ones, but finally spoke up, a glint in his eye and a smile on his face. “I’m sure there’s some mighty rich people who’d love nothing more than to end up in the possession of some stolen art...through absolutely legitimate channels of course.” Getting up now, Dutch spoke loud enough for everyone in camp to hear. His energy and passions renewed. From Arthur’s seated position, Dutch looked as though he stood far above the trees and could command the wind and rain to polish his buttonhooks. 

Dutch left his spot at the poker table, drawing an audience as the gang slowly filtered to hear him speak. “Friends, it was only a couple of weeks ago we were shivering to death in some small abandoned mining town forgotten to the sands of time. Now? We have recovered, and we are strong once more! I don’t know about you, but I’m done hiding a lying in wait for the Pinkertons to come gunning through our little camp here. It is time that we move and that seize a life for ourselves. Arthur and Hosea, the two best men I’ve had the pleasure to know, and I have devised a plan. And folks? This one is sure to be good.”   
Lowering his voice down to a whisper, everyone leaned in. “This score could be the answer to the frozen prayers we made in Colter. What happened in Blackwater put us through the wringer, but we are only better for it. With this score, we could get the money we need to finally get back West and towards the freedom, we have fought so hard for. Even beyond that, we could free ourselves of America’s sins once and for all, and go somewhere no lawman or tax collector can find us.”

Leaning back up to his full height, Dutch spoke, his volume normal, but his words booming through the trees, a declaration to God above for what their fates have in store. 

“I have a plan. All I ask now is, are you goddamn with me?”

While Dutch’s spiels usually garnered a readiness from the gang; this speech acted almost like a spell: the excitement was well received and barely containable. The gang all collectively rose into a cheer in rancorous joy. Grimshaw had a momentary lapse of judgment and reveled with the girls. The men all glanced at one another, smirking, ready to get to work. The older men of the gang- Pearson, Uncle, Swanson- too grew engaged and felt the energy within the camp, spreading like electricity in this thunderous applause. Even the Marstons, for all John and Abigail’s bickering and fighting, had smiles on their faces, Jack caught up in the excitement without even knowing why.

And Arthur and Hosea, still sitting down at the poker table glancing over? Well, they knew that maybe, just maybe, good times were ahead for the Van Der Linde gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter two! Sorry it took me more than a month to update, the plague sorta threw a wrench in the works since pretty much everything has fallen apart! 
> 
> I can assure you with the utmost certainty that the next chapter will not take that long to be posted. Happy Trails!
> 
> -Juneland

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been an idea cooking for a while so I'm happy to execute it. I would like y'all to keep in mind that I'm still trying to get the hang of regularly writing and posting fanfic so I hope y'all will bear with me.  
> Also if you genuinely have any suggestions or criticism on the narrative please do let me know. My main concern is eventually figuring out everyone's costumes for the Gala, which is still a very daunting task...
> 
> Never fear though! I'm excited for this fic and I hope you are too. Thanks for reading!
> 
> -JUNELAND
> 
> P.S. This fic was inspired by @guarman on Tumblr! Their Met Gala Fanart blew me over the moon!


End file.
